


Damp

by Sweaters (Guhs)



Series: Pale Danvivor [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: And I'm also really tired It's been almost 24 hours why did I stay up, Developing Relationship, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Friendship/Love, HowardRisdale is a sweetie though, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I don't know if this counts but kind of, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm going to sleep enjoy or don't, Light-Hearted, M/M, Major Character Injury, Not Beta Read, Paladin Damp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 01:55:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17951426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guhs/pseuds/Sweaters
Summary: Nate is badly injured andreallywants a shower. Everyone is busy. Except... yep! You guessed it. Jesus. No, Danse.Kind of the same thing sometimes.





	Damp

Knight-Sergeant Nathan Thomas was exactly today years old when he discovered just how much he hated upper-body injuries.

It happened about five days ago, out on a trek through the Boston Commons. Some retrieval mission for Proctor Quinlan; he’d been fetching nondescript technical documents for the better part of the last few months, but this one was particularly special. Why? He didn’t know. It all just looked like the same technobabble to him, and Quinlan was not especially interested in explaining it, which sat just fine with Nate. It wasn’t his first trip through the Commons, but it did just so happen to be his first without his partner - really just  _ a  _ partner, in general. He was stupid, he hadn’t thought his path through, and he wasn’t paying enough attention when coming onto another shitty raider outpost. He’d become too reliant on having backup.

You might be thinking, “Raiders? You mean some of the weakest enemies in the Commonwealth? Pathetic!” And normally he would agree.

Things change just a little bit when one of the Jetheads happens to be wielding an entire missile launcher. And when you’ve had the rusty shell of a 2.3-ton nuclear-powered car blast into your skeleton from behind, Stimpaks - serenity in a syringe as they are - become much more ‘maybe this will keep me breathing’, than ‘this will heal me and keep me going until I get back to base.’

If he weren’t so busy feeling sorry for himself, he could probably recognize how lucky he was to not have been hit directly and turned into a nice pre-war paste with which the local mutants could paint their shacks.

As it stood now, he could barely lift his arms or stand straight enough to support himself, and he fucking  _ hated it _ .

It was fine at first. He got to sleep in, he took lots of strong medication, and once he felt like he wasn’t on the brink of death anymore, he could eat and breathe without wanting to scream a good 15% of the time. It only got better from there.

Except for the fact that he smelled like shit.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he remembered saying to the medical trainee who seriously questioned his ability to bathe himself since he had about the same physical control as a newborn gelatin baby. “I’m very sure. Yep. Uh-uh. I’ll shout if I’m dying again.” So they wheeled him to the shower bay after peak time. Everyone was in the Mess, he was alone, he could take his time. It was golden.

He was hauled back to the medbay an hour later when an Initiate found him face down with his fatigues only halfway to his knees. So ended his short but sweet reign of free-will and independence; they all but strapped him down onto a gurney after that.

His absentee partner returned on day two, having successfully cleared out a nearby fort for Brotherhood use. The man was extremely unhappy about them splitting up in the first place. But Proctor Quinlan insisted the retrieval of the document was time-sensitive, and Elder Maxson insisted that his fort neede clearing  _ right this minute _ . Once word came around, the entirety of the Commonwealth Brotherhood of Steel chaptered learned that hell hath no fury like a partner separated. It took over an hour for them to even let him into the medbay, citing that his ‘passionate’ attitude would only exacerbate the situation.

Nate was deep into his third Med-x shot of the day when Mr. Metal finally busted through into his little corner of the makeshift infirmary with the same look on his face as his fussing mother for the first … well, for all the years of his life they were both alive.

“Are you alright, soldier?”  
“Just peachy. Rolled out of bed, you know how it is. It’s these two-hundred and some year old bones. Old age isn’t good for you, who would’ve thought?”  
“Do not downplay this, Knight. You look like hell. Shouldn’t they have healed you by now?”  
“It’s Knight- _ Sergeant  _ to you, Paladin. And thank you. Alas, the medics are not God incarnate. I should be good to go in about two weeks, they say.”  
And so began a decade of Danse fussing over his sponsee until they finally made him leave. Nate did manage to sleep a little more peacefully that night, just because of how much the tin man’s fretting had worn him out. Made him feel like he was back home with his mother, recovering in bed from anything from sunburn to a fractured leg.

Mr. Metal seemed very interested in focusing on other things after that, but reportedly he asked for updates very often. Much to the chagrin of the med crew.

Things took a turn for the worse a couple of days later, with shower attempt numero dos. Nate fought tooth and nail, and the medics were having none of it.  
“We’re too busy, Nate.”  
“Then let me do it myself!”  
“No! You saw what happened last time. What, do you wanna drown? You got a death wish or something?”  
“I’d rather drown than smell like a ferret’s ass, personally!”  
“What the hell is a ferret?!”  


This went on with varying degrees of intensity every time he complained about it, which was often. For most of the day, actually, starting around 6 in the morning. His tactic was to annoy everyone until they wore down and gave in… except, nobody wanted to volunteer to help, considering they weren’t allowed to leave him unsupervised once they’d started. This was fine by him until they just stopped acknowledging him. He’d start talking, and whoever was tending to him would leave immediately after they were finished, and he’d only slightly hear their following complaints through the thick bulkhead of the Prydwen’s medical bay.

_ “Sweet  _ fuck  _ if he doesn’t stop nagging us for a goddamn shower, I’m going to blow my brains out.”  
_ _ “Better yet, blow  _ his  _ brains out. Christ, I’ve never heard of somebody so intent on just getting under some water. Just wait a couple of damned days!” _

Or at least that’s what his brain liked to put together in its drugged state.

Paladin Danse made the mistake of wandering by during one of these outbursts. His nightly checkup, as the crew liked to call it. 

“Just let me take a fucking shower. Leave me in a wheelchair and just put me under the water, if you’re that worried!”  
“How many times do I have to explain it? You are  _ physically incapable  _ of doing anything yourself!”  
“Oh yeah? I’ll show you how  _ physically incapable  _ I am when I get out of this bed and kick your ass!”  
“Try me!”  
“Woah, woah. What’s going on in here, Aspirant Cadence?” The Paladin smelled of oil and looked the part of a mechanic deep in an old Corvega when he stepped into the bay. It really wasn’t helping Nate feel any less flustered.  
“Just your damned  _ partner _ , Paladin. I’ve never had a grown man, a  _ soldier  _ be so dramatic about a little bit of water.”  
“Last I checked, that  _ damned partner  _ of mine outranked you, so I’d recommend showing the appropriate amount of respect.”  
“Sorry, sir.”  
“What’s this about a shower?”  
“He wants to take one, but he fell last time he tried and nobody is available right now to help him.”  
“So just let me--” A pointed glare stopped Nate in his tracks. He went back to silently fuming.  
“What do you mean? You’re all standing around in here, aren’t you? What’s the problem?”  
“No--  _ ugh _ . We’re swamped with other work. There was an outbreak of something we’re having trouble identifying in the airport, and we need to focus on that. Not this whiny-ass--”  _ Sigh _ . “We don’t have the particular manpower to tend to Knight-Sergeant Thomas the way he would like.”  
“I’m sure I can arrange something with Knight-Captain Cade to let you off of your--”  
“Why don’t you do it?”  
“Sorry?”  
“Why don’t you help Knight-Sergeant Thomas out with his problem? You’re his partner and his sponsor. That means you’re exclusively responsible for him.”

Despite the glimmer of hope that welled up in Nate, he didn’t… fully consider the consequences of this maneuver.  _ Don’t say anything, dumbass. You’ve never been good at not being a dumbass _ .

As it turned out, he didn’t have to say anything at all.

“I guess if you are all otherwise engaged, I could take up the mantle. It doesn’t sound like he’s asking for much.”  
“Great. Fantastic! Take care that he doesn’t slip and die. Or-- you know, don’t. I don’t fucking care at this point.”

Throwing her hands up in what could only be the rawest form of exasperation, Aspirant Cadence tossed the medical chart to the side and went on to greener pastures that didn’t include adult men whining about being bathed. At least, that’s what Nate assumed. She was probably just going to the Shout Deck.

“Aspirant Cadence, that’s hardly appro--” But she was already long gone.

The energy in the room didn’t have time to turn weird or tense. The other aspirants and initiates in the corner of the bay all seemed to collectively go about their various forms of business with only an authoritative glance in their direction and in the space of the comfortable humdrum, Nate found himself dumped into the ship’s sturdiest wheelchair and well on his way down to the shower bay.  
He’d have to keep in mind to bill the hulking Paladin later for the trauma of having his knees and fingers slammed into so many walls.

The sickly gunmetal glow and the constant swampy air of the showers would’ve been a welcome sight in just about any other circumstance, not least one where Nate found himself physically capable of taking care of himself like the adult man he always assumed he was. That is, any circumstance that didn’t involve his commanding officer wheeling his useless jelly body around.

Placed just to the side by a rather bracing wall, Nate watched Danse turn the nearest head on and hold one of those oil-slicked hands beneath it.  _ That might be a bit messy _ . With that settled, the Paladin looked to his gelatin skeleton of a sponsee rather confidently. “Alright. Looks like you’re all set.”

“Yeah, thanks-”

“Everything should be available in those lockers there. If you need anything, I’ll just be outside.”

“Uh, but-” Aaaand he’s gone. The heavy door creaked about a foot from shutting, and his CO was no longer in sight. Suddenly, Nate felt very lost.  _ It’s fine, this is what you wanted anyway. Just get everything off and get it done, easy-peasy. No problem, right? You’ve been doing this for years. _

Wrong.

It was through sheer willpower and determination alone that he managed to get his shirt even halfway up his torso. Cade was  _ really  _ not kidding about the deep-tissue trauma, nor was he at all exaggerating the relative uselessness of upper extremities and fine motor functions when one’s entire back and shoulders were on lockdown.  
This was a whole fucking pickle, wasn’t it? Fuck.  _ Shit _ . Goddammit. Motherfuck. Nothing left but to accept his fate.

“D-  _ fuck _ . Danse!”

The tin man quickly materialized in the doorway. His foolhardy look of confidence quickly became confused as he took in the sight.  _ Can’t imagine why _ .

“You’re still dressed.”  
“Yes.” A very heavy pause. One could have birthed children and grown a family spanning three generations in the depth of that silence.  
“Why-”  
“I can’t move my arms. Or my back. Well- not much, anyway. Muscles are very fucked.” Silence. “Look, if you grab a chair and help me out with the clothes, I think I can manage the rest okay by myself. I can save the good shower for later.”

The doe-eyed face of the Paladin seemed too thoughtful. He did this sometimes. Whatever came out next was usually either very insightful or very off-putting. There was seldom a middle ground with a man like Danse.

“What happened last time?” is what he came up with this time.

A beat. He could lie about this, get Danse off the hook, get  _ himself  _ off the hook. Nate didn’t really need Danse seeing him anywhere near naked right now, nevermind naked and wet--

“They say I fell. Something about the unstable spine and… blood pressure problems, making me pass out? I don’t know. I only remember waking up in the medbay a couple of hours later.”  _ What the fuck, Nathan? _

This didn’t seem to put the Paladin at ease even slightly. In fact, it made his face scrunch up before he made an effort to quell it.  _ Oh, boy. He’s throwing out expressions, this isn’t good _ .

“Let’s get down to it, then.” Paladin out, Paladin back in ft. chair. 

Throughout the countless times in the past Nate had concocted a fantasy of this event or any events like it, this is not how he particularly pictured it going. The smell of motor oil, grease and steel plugged his senses as his body was hoisted -  _ “Ouch, goddammit!” / “Sorry.” _ \- from one chair to another. His battered skin sparked with every otherwise careful touch of the stained hands which worked to pull his t-shirt off. One arm, two arms, head. He felt like he was five all over again, sitting on the edge of his bed while his mother got him ready for his bath.

“Jesus… Christ, Nathan.” That was not a phrase often spoken by Miriam Thomas.

Nate hadn’t really paid much attention to what the damage was in the few coherent moments he had during that first day. Likewise, he hadn’t been able to move quite enough to check it out himself in the days following. But for once, his injuries… looked about proportional to how they felt. Deep, ugly bruising in splotches throughout his ribcage, a sickly amalgam of blue and black around his shoulders and upper arms. He could only imagine how bad his back looked at this point.

“Oh. Shit. I guess that’s kinda bad, huh?”

“I don’t think this is something to understate, Nathan. They told me you almost died. What exactly happened?” Focused on the discussion of the injuries at hand, Danse was able to get through partially lifting his charge enough to slide down the first set of garments on his lower body. The windchill bit through Nate’s legs immediately. Why they put him in a full set of clothes instead of _anything_ else was anybody’s guess.  
  
“Missile launcher.”  
“Missile launcher?!” Nate’s legs hit the chair with a hefty _thwack_ as the pants were roughly pulled off.  
“Ow, fuck! Watch yourself, tin man.”  
“Shit-- sorry.” Maybe it was instinct which drove Danse to automatically massage the battered skin on the back of Nate’s legs, but it was definitely the uncomfortable tension that followed which made the action perfunctory and forced the Paladin back on his feet. “So- a missile launcher?”  
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, a missile launcher. Missile hit an old car, the car hit me, and the rest is history. I don’t remember too much between finding the raiders and being brought back to the Prydwen.”  
“I’ve been saying the raider problem in this region needs to be dealt with. Maybe this is the wakeup call the Elder needed.”

Sitting there, Nate felt a bit like he was an ancient artifact put up for display in a museum. The First Human, or the Amazing Human-Grape Hybrid. Half flesh of man, half purple skin of grape. There wasn’t much but a thin construct of fabric separating him from the rest of the world and the way his bruises were being scrutinized by his commanding officer made Nate feel… some type of way. He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.

But one thing was for certain: sitting here in this drafty room wasn’t helping matters whatsoever.

“... Is the water ready?” A lightbulb seemed to turn on behind Danse’s eyes. Apparently, Nate wasn’t the only one distracted by the man’s thoughts. If it were any other situation, he wouldn’t have minded the free ogling. But he really wanted to get this over with so he didn’t make an ass of himself like he always did.  
“Right. Uh, I suppose… I’ll…” The plan of action unfolded silently in Danse’s head; Nate was just along for the ride as his chair was spun around and pulled back partially into the warm, somewhat violent spray of the showerhead. The shudder of relief was immediate, despite the rippling pain everywhere else.

“Too hot?”  
“No such thing.” And Nate sat there for a long moment before both of them realized that neither knew what the fuck they were doing.  
“...Soap.”  
That was all the intel Nate was privy to before he heard some rattling around in the nearby lockers. A slam, _clatter_ ( _“Damn it._ ”), then a bit an of indistinct, not-quite-identifiable noise. Wet and a little squelchy. Slick, broad hands crept up through the mess of dirty blonde hair from the back of his scalp. Nate’s muscles tensed up involuntarily, and so, in turn, did Danse’s.

“Are you alright?”  
“Yeah. This is just… strange.”  
“It is a bit… unorthodox.” The hands continued, hesitant but eventually finding their groove. Fingers pressed in all the right places, triggering every tingle and shudder, then came the thumbs at the back-- _ouch fucking hell Jesus Christ_ , met with an equally fervent series of _Sorry, I’m sorry, are you okay? Can you still move? Damn it. Sorry._

Despite the numerous precautions which had to be taken, the tension wasn’t as bad as Nate was worried it would be. It was a little weird, there was definitely  _ something  _ there, but the longer they went through the motions, the less uncomfortable they were with it all.

But then, they were only on the hair, a.k.a the least scandalous feature of the human body.

It was only through the power of heavy medication and a lot of dissociation that Nate was able to sit there against that chair and do this without screaming. < _ Praise the Lord and pass the medication and we’ll all stay free. _ >

“Have you done this before?” If Nate knew anything about Danse, this would have caught him a bit off-guard. Yet, his fingers didn’t stutter.  
“No. I can confidently say I’ve never been in a similar situation.”  
“I’m a little surprised you went through with it, then. Isn’t this a bit outside of… well, _everyone’s_ comfort zone?”  
“Head back.” For a brief moment before the residual spray of water blinded him, Nate had an excellent inverted view of his commanding officer. But the splash forced his eyes shut, so he could only tactilely appreciate the experience of the man tirelessly scrubbing the soap out of his hair. “What kind of a man would I be if I left my troops to suffer in their time of need?”

Nate laughed, then immediately groaned. “I can tell you from experience that my CO before the war would never have dreamed of doing something like this for anyone, let along his soldiers. Too… out there, you know?” If they weren’t actively talking, he could’ve fallen asleep in seconds. The battle-worn hands working through his scalp, sussing the soap out of his hair, shielding his eyes from the overflow. Despite how odd and maybe socially unsafe the situation was, it felt very… warm. Like home, childhood before the war, warm baths on cold nights. He could get used to this.

He probably shouldn’t, though.

“That’s understandable. I don’t think I’d do it for just anyone, either. Over the last several months I’ve come to think of you as a close friend. There are few things I’m unwilling to do when it comes to the people I care about.” The good part was over, and Nate’s head was gently lulled back into its fixed position. He didn’t like having to manually support it again.

“I’m not sure I deserve that kind of shining endorsement, Danse.” More of that indistinct  _ wikqwikq _ . The all-encompassing smell of motor oil mixed with the white musk of the white bar offered down to Nate, now that they had surpassed the only non-flesh portion of the evening. The soap had turned a grayish hue; by the time this was over with, it was really looking to be a crapshoot regarding how  _ clean  _ he’d managed to get.

“This might hurt.” And fuck, did it hurt. The pain radiating from the pressure on his back and shoulders was tremendous despite the gentleness and featherlight touch. Danse seemed to take the pain more personally, hissing each time he hit a particularly sore spot and caused a muscle to tense. Strangely empathetic for an emotionless man. Nate was good at hiding pain from his superiors, but it wasn’t getting much easier at this point. “You’re a good soldier, Nathan. A great man, even. You found a purpose and you’re determined enough to work until you achieve it. What’s more deserving than that?”

“That feels like a loaded question.” _Ouch._ The talking helped, but it did little to distract from what Nate imagined must have been the unmistakable sensation of sharpened stones scraping raw muscle in his back. “This doesn’t sound like you. Something on your mind?”  
“No. I guess I’m really starting to think about things for the first time. I’m just… not the greatest with these sorts of things. You don’t call me ‘tin man’ for no reason, right?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“From your old prewar fable. Something about a magic man, a mutant lion, an effigy and a tin man. And a girl with bloody feet.”  
“What-- you mean the Wizard of Oz? That’s… wow. I guess things really get lost in time after almost 400 years, huh?”  
“Is that not the story? The weak mutant, the dumb effigy, and the heartless tin man?”  
“I… well, I guess you’re not far off. It’s the Tin Man, the Cowardly Lion, and the Scarecrow. It was a movie.”  
“A… movie.”  
“Yeah. It’s like a transmission on a telecom screen, but fictional. Actors in costumes and a made-up story. I guess it was a book first, though… But, anyway. That’s kind of the point of the story. In the end, the lion gets his courage, the scarecrow gets his brain, and the tin man gets a heart. The moral is sort of that they already had what they were missing all along. The grass isn’t always greener on the other side and sometimes it’s better to recognize what you have, rather than wish for what you think you lack.”  
“That’s remarkably profound for a society that destroyed itself with its own ambitions.”

A stilted laugh. “Movies back then always did represent the best parts of us.”

"What about the girl, then? With the bloody feet? And the magic man?"  
"Oh, she was the protagonist, a girl from Kansas. Those were magic ruby slippers that teleported her home when she clicked her heels together three times. And the magic man was just a fraud behind a curtain."  
"... I'm not sure that makes more sense than my version."

Water was directed down his back, the soap gingerly rinsed off. The Paladin seemed extra careful as he circled around the front - Nate quickly realized it was due to the state of the man himself. Damp hair slicked back, jumpsuit shiny with water, grayish-black smears all over his skin where the grease had been forced out, and a massive puddle between the pair of them.

The laughter wasn’t stifled this time, unfortunately for Nate’s ribs. “You’re a bit damp.”

“Look who’s talking.” Their smiles lingered as Danse kneeled, a sort of uncertain stance that was practical, nevertheless. Again with that indistinct noise - now identified as a soap bar being manhandled - and hands on his skin again, down his legs. The soap bar was entrusted to Nate once again. He knew he could do part of this himself. Danse probably knew he could do some of this himself. But they carried on in their same rhythm. His legs would probably never be cleaner than they would be tonight, given the metal man’s faultless attention to detail.

Despite the focus being mainly on the damaged lower extremities, the Paladin’s face grew more solemn as he kept catching sight of the scattered colors of Nate’s torso. Solemn, scrutinizing, concerned. Something else?

“What’s that look?”  
“You could’ve died. You almost did. Do you realize that?”

Nate started to crack a joke, but the mirth died in his throat the minute he realized the level of the intensity in the other man’s face. He might’ve known it as fact, but maybe he hadn’t realized the full weight of what had happened. It had been less than a week, maybe he could excuse it as focusing on physical recovery. But he  _ had  _ almost died. It felt like just another obstacle, not the near-end of an entire life. Years of memories, of unique experiences and thoughts and feelings. If he hadn’t had those stimpaks on hand, or if he hadn’t been airlifted in time, or if any number of other variables had come into play, he’d be dead, rather than here face to face with the man he trusted most. Every dream, thought and wish, just… gone, in a puff of smoke, and the world would have been none the wiser.

Sobering as it was, the sudden revelation didn’t sit well with him. He never did much like the concept of death. It must have shown; he never did have a great poker face, either. 

“I guess that’s right, isn’t it? That’s a little… wild.”  
“I should’ve been there with you. I won’t make the same mistake again if I can help it.”  
“Things just got in the way, Danse--”  
“No, there are no excuses for it. I did what kept me in Arthur’s good graces when I could’ve argued for reassignment. I allowed myself to value my reputation over the person I’m responsible for, and it almost cost you your life.” The ministrations had largely stopped at this point, divergent water washing the thin layer of soap away in small culverts and streams. Suddenly, nothing else seemed as important as this conversation which had been so relaxing up to this point.  
“It was just a freak occurrence.” No use.  
“I’ve already lost so many people, Nathan. People I should have been around to protect. Cutler, half of my team before you, and who knows how many else lost to time?” It was hard to tell if those were tears or residual water. He knew better than to ask. “You can count on me next time until there are no more ‘next times’. I don’t need another person-shaped hole in my life.”

There wasn’t going to be any changing his mind. Nate could forgive him until there was nothing left to say, but he had the feeling none of it mattered until Danse could forgive himself. It was that distressed look in the Paladin’s eyes, the way his fingers pressed into the bruised skin beneath them. This went much deeper than the two of them, they both knew that.

So he nodded. “Okay. I trust you.”

The last leg of the shower was a little more compulsory than the first portion but not much less enjoyable. ( _ “I think I made you smell like oil. Apologies. It’ll wear off in a few days, probably.”)  _ There were boundaries that Danse didn’t dare overstep (“ _ How about I hold you steady and  _ don’t look  _ while you put that other pair on?” _ ) and in their situation, it might’ve been a good thing. A bridge neither of them were quite ready to cross.

The two of them toweled off (Mr. Metal did most of the work) and once Nate was thrown into an extra set of fatigues from the lockers, they were back in the medbay. It was mealtime, which meant most everyone was in the Mess, and if they weren’t they were too busy to pay attention to two men and a wheelchair creeping through the sidelines to avoid the throngs of questioning soldiers. The few remaining medics in the bay barely even acknowledged them. A success story if ever there was one.

For a while, they reverted back to their relaxed states. The versions of their personalities that they only got to see when it was just the two of them, the much truer, less robotic forms of themselves. They even managed to eat most of a whole meal before Aspirant Cadence came barrelling back in, singing praises and Hallelujahs, for the  _ Great Princess Nate  _ had finally gotten his shower.

And at the end of it all, Nate still never got that fucking document.

**Author's Note:**

> Guys I'm really tired but here's this thing that's like 4x as long as the other ones because... y'know, why not I guess?  
> Wasn't supposed to be emotional, it was a light-hearted prompt but life, uh... finds a way, y'know? I ate pudding for breakfast and now I'm going to sleep.
> 
> Again, these little one-shots are just for fun to help kink out my writer's block, it's alright if you don't like it. My writing isn't for everyone (including me most of the time lmao ;) ) so I encourage you to go look at some of the other amazing writers in this tag, or any of the other FO4 tags. They all definitely deserve some recognition.
> 
> Enjoy if you want to!


End file.
